Deep Within
by Ellis1
Summary: AU! A mysterious new student makes an apperance in Harry's fifth year, and brings along with her memories once hidden deep within. How much will it change the events already established by canon? How much is hidden? First in the Secrets Trilogy.
1. Memories Relived

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It's my first fic, so please review. It gives me the strength to go on (and the reminder…). Oh yeah, and I do take well to constructive criticism (I think!). ;)

I'd like to thank my ever-striving conscience for agreeing with the Silver Serpents, since all encouraged me to post this fic. **I own nothing. The characters are all the sublime figments of Rowling's imagination. Please don't sue me. I would plead insanity anyway, so no point in it. **I would like to warn all that I do incorporate everything I do, listen, read, etc.; so if you recognise something I'm truly sorry for not mentioning you personally. Enough of my blabbering. I present… Deep Within

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Chapter 1

Memories Relived

It was a cold day. The autumn had already taken its toll. He sat alone, secluded from the rest, not being a part of the screams and laughter going on a few steps away. He was wrapped up in his coat, sizes too large, sinking deeper and deeper in it, for once grateful for the shelter. He watched intently as leaves dropped lightly from the trees, some sparkling yellow, some scarlet, as they swirled around gracefully with the wind before falling finally to the ground in exquisite swings.

He slowly felt a bruise forming above his left eye, under his glasses. He had once again been the victim of merciless beating from Dudley and his gang, again because of his "abnormalities". He was always being taunted about being different, about being a "freak". He couldn't understand why the strangest things always happened to him, and much less why his aunt and uncle always punished him for them. He knew everyone was always waiting for him to slip, awaiting the moment Potter boy would crack. It seldom happened, but when it did it would be the talk of the playground for weeks. At least now they were leaving him alone.

He shifted his gaze momentarily to the various children laughing and shouting and running, socialising, associating, enjoying their recess-something he had never experienced. Not that it bothered him much; he had gotten used to it. He had found a peace in being alone, a quietness he had grown to enjoy. He fixed his eyes again on the crimson and gold coloured leaves, following their swan-like movements, not bothering to acknowledge the fact that his break would be over in a few minutes.

"Harry Potter?"

He didn't move to look at the bearer of that hypnotising voice. His name had been said mysteriously, and he had heard no trace of the hostility a voice uttering his name usually held, no mocking tone.

"Harry?"

Again, he didn't respond. It might be a prank, and if not, a dream. Things like this usually were, and he had no means to prove otherwise yet. He felt the stranger sit beside him and follow his gaze. He continued to stare at the effects of autumn, but without really seeing any of it, lost in his thoughts, analysing his existence.

Interrupting his train of thoughts, he realised the leaves were heading towards him. He watched in awe as the leaves reached him, and surrounded him and the stranger in a perfect circle, spinning around them before landing lightly on the floor.

"You will find your place in this world, Harry, and when you do, we will hopefully meet again."

***

Harry sighed as he lifted yet another boulder. It already seemed enough that he had to go running with his cousin Dudley every morning, (_…to keep precious Dudkeins company… _Aunt Petunia had said) but now he had also to work on the landscape and garden with the other hired workers. Not that it didn't have its advantages; he did get paid, even if it was just a measly 5 pounds or so. The work was also shaping his figure, giving him muscles, and the running was refreshing, with the added strength of his legs.

" 'Arry, ye comin' to watch the sunset?"

The question jerked him out of his thoughts, his concentration now free to feel the last remains of the heat of the day, and the gentle gusts of a breeze blowing the new night air.

"Huh? Oh! Coming Dick!" 

Harry walked to a corner of the garden still unfinished, facing west. He sat together with the rest of the group, but somewhat secluded. He sat down, deep in thought, enjoying the serene beauty of the pink sky, with its streaks of ruby red and midnight blue, and a converged purple in between.

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Why have I changed so much? Harry thought. He had felt himself changing. Not only physically, but also mentally changing. Maybe it was that he was simply maturing, but it seemed more than that. All of a sudden he found himself doing inexplicable things, and a lot of wandless magic, though it was so simple no one ever noticed. He found himself interested in things he hadn't been before, understanding things better. He found himself remembering random memories that he hadn't given a thought to before, things that seemed to have been jerked out of his brain and he had brought it back. He had got at least one letter from each of his friends, but he really hadn't thought about it much, just dismissed it as normal.

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Normal. What was normal?

He got up and went inside, running up the stairs gingerly, and slipping into his room. Surprisingly enough, he had already done all his homework, at least all that could be done without buying his new books yet. A random thought slipped into his mind, _The O.W.L.s_. He felt restless, but couldn't stop thinking. His mind was working non-stop withthoughts he didn't know he could form, and one of them stood out from them all.

And in the mist of all these thoughts racing infinite laps around the track of his brain at absurd speeds, he fell on his bed, and he slept.


	2. Surprises Await

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It's my first fic, so please review. It gives me the strength to go on (and the reminder…). Oh yeah, and I do take well to constructive criticism (I think!). ;)

I'd like to thank my ever-striving conscience for agreeing with the Silver Serpents, since all encouraged me to post this fic. **I own nothing. The characters are all the sublime figments of Rowling's imagination. Please don't sue me. I would plead insanity anyway, so no point in it. **I would like to warn all that I do incorporate everything I do, listen, read, etc.; so if you recognise something I'm truly sorry for not mentioning you personally. Enough of my blabbering. The continuation of… Deep Within

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Oh yeah, thanks for reviewing!!!!!!!!!

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Chapter 2

Surprises Await

"This is all your fault boy!" Uncle Vernon shouted.

This rage had been going on for quite some time now, and Uncle Vernon's face was now purple with anger. It didn't help that Harry was burying all his anger and speaking calmly, no emotions betraying on his face. Harry was also quite enjoying the effects this was having on his uncle.

"Sorry to disappoint you, Sir, but bringing such a creature here for the sole purpose of angering you is beyond my dignity." Was Harry's calm response to the accusation, but his mind was reeling.

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How ironic! As if Harry would bring a boggart to the house and suffer the effects of dementors for the whole summer! And he couldn't even use magic to banish it if it got out of control.

"You don't have any dignity boy! And how do you explain being able to get rid of it?" Uncle Vernon raged on.

"I was taught how to get rid of it at school almost two years ago."

"Don't you dare mention that school of yours in my house! Plus, if you were taught there, wouldn't you have to use some of your…abnormal qualities?!?!"

"Not necessarily. You see, the thing that beats it is laughter, so all I did was laugh and it was gone. If I had used magic the Ministry would have detected it and I would have been expelled."

"DO NOT MENTION THAT WORD UNDER MY ROOF!"

"Alright, I won't. If you prefer I will go outside and scream it AT THE TOP OF MY LUNGS!" The last remark had hit a nerve. He couldn't keep calm anymore, but he had to before he started blowing things up.

"Plus, I have to go write to my godfather now, and to his best friend Remus. He's a werewolf." He added lightly, and after seeing the expression of anger change to fear on his uncle's face, strode purposely upstairs.

***

Harry was not prepared for what came that night.

There was a knock on the door. The door opened to reveal his uncle. His breath was heavy with alcohol; Harry could smell it from his seat on the bed. His eyes were red and beady from the intoxication, and his face was red with anger. His expression was twisted into hate and disgust.

He walked towards Harry, and in his shock Harry didn't move.

Bad mistake.

His uncle delivered a punch to his stomach, sending Harry across the room and on the floor. Before he had time to regain his focus, he was kicked savagely, again in the torso.

"You, boy, will regret the day you were born!" His uncle said while picking Harry up. He proceeded to throw Harry across the room, and Harry's head hit will the wall with a loud _Crack!_

He had thought these beatings were over. He was apparently wrong. Another day, another beating. His uncle was drunk, and again he, Harry, was the object of his uncle's frustrations. How cruel life could be sometimes. _Well, _he thought dryly, _at least he isn't using his… _His thought came to a halt as he saw his uncle unbuckling his belt from his trousers.

Harry didn't even bother to scream. What was the point? He was being beaten over and over again, flogged by his own uncle. He was dull to the pain; hardly registered as the leather yet again came to contact with his skin.

"Have you got any dignity now, boy?"

That hit a nerve. Harry looked up, his eyes cold shards of emerald grass. Anger and rage burned deep within him, no longer accepting to stay buried deep in his soul.

And the belt his uncle was holding was torn out of his hand and flew out the window.

His uncle looked at him with wide eyes, recovering from his fit. But the damage was done. Slowly, as so not to startle him, his uncle edged his way out of Harry's room.


	3. Always Expect the Unexpected

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It's my first fic, so please review. It gives me the strength to go on (and the reminder…). Oh yeah, and I do take well to constructive criticism (I think!). ;)

I'd like to thank my ever-striving conscience for agreeing with the Silver Serpents, since all encouraged me to post this fic. **I own nothing. The characters are all the sublime figments of Rowling's imagination. Please don't sue me. I would plead insanity anyway, so no point in it. **I would like to warn all that I do incorporate everything I do, listen, read, etc.; so if you recognise something I'm truly sorry for not mentioning you personally. 

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**_VyingQuill_****_: _**About the school thing, if you think about it, school must have been hard for Harry. I'm more of a Tom Riddle person anyway, you known: dark and brooding, so I guess I got the better of me. Oh yeah, Dick is the guy that hired Harry for the work, and you will find out who he really is later (yeah, with all the other little plot holes filled). And yes, I agree, I totally think of Uncle Vernon as a retard.

Enough of my blabbering. The continuation of… Deep Within

** **

Chapter 3

Always Expect the Unexpected

Harry sat in the same corner his uncle had left him, hugging his knees tight to his chest while his chin rested against them, rocking back and forth slowly. He was trying to calm down, truly he was, but he just couldn't bring himself to it. His thoughts kept blurring together and then disappearing into nothingness, just out of reach, out of comprehension. He hardly heard as the doorbell rang, or as the door was opened, or the exclamation of surprise from his relatives, or even the sound of someone pounding up the stairs. He was just there, hardly in existence, making himself as inconspicuous as possible. The only way he would be found was if someone was looking specifically for him.

"Harry?"

Dammit! What was Snape doing here right now? He wanted to be left alone! Wait a minute…Snape?!?! Oh, who cares! As long as he was left alone.

"Let me be."

So he meant to say, but that was not what he heard. The sound of a thousand splitting snakes escaped his lips. Just what he needed. Parseltongue.

He heard Snape chuckle. "I am not a snake, Mr. Potter. I would prefer if you direct to me as a human being."

"Why are you here?" He groaned. "Just leave me be."

"The Headmaster has sent me here as soon as he got word of what has been done to you. I am to take you to a safer location. I have packed your things already."

"Can I go to the Burrow?"

He rethought what he asked quickly, his senses coming back to him in a rush.

"Never mind, I don't want to put the Weasleys in danger. How is the wizarding world by the way?" He asked casually and lightly.

"I must say you come to your senses very quickly. I'm impressed. Though I am afraid the Headmaster will decide where you are to stay, which will most probably be the school itself."

With that said Snape got up, and Harry followed, going down the steps. He found his trunk at the foot of them. With a glance and a wave of his hand both his trunk and his owl cage came gliding silently behind him as they stepped outside.

As Snape flagged down the Night Bus, he looked towards Harry, and then stared behind him.

"Where is your wand?"

"Err…it's in my trunk I think. Hold on, let me get it."

With a flick of his wrist Harry's trunk burst open and his wand quickly flew to his outstretched hand, landing neatly and ready for use.

"Why, do you need it?"

"How much wandless magic have you been doing lately?"

Harry shrugged, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. _I can hear Snape's thoughts! _His mind screamed as he realised a power he hadn't used in 8 years resurfaced yet again.

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A/N: I might take a little longer for the fourth chapter, cuz I'm running out of inspiration. Where is your muse when you really need it?


	4. Acquaintances Renewed

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It's my first fic, so please review. It gives me the strength to go on (and the reminder…). Oh yeah, and I do take well to constructive criticism (I think!). ;)

I'd like to thank my ever-striving conscience for agreeing with the Silver Serpents, since all encouraged me to post this fic. **I own nothing. The characters are all the sublime figments of Rowling's imagination. Please don't sue me. I would plead insanity anyway, so no point in it. **I would like to warn all that I do incorporate everything I do, listen, read, etc.; so if you recognise something I'm truly sorry for not mentioning you personally. I would also like to thank that faithful episode of **Two of a Kind** for giving me some well-appreciated inspiration. (I know it sounds weird since you will find no relation, but my mind associates things very quickly…)

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Answers to the reviews at the end, cuz I can't wait to start. Anyways,** e**nough of my blabbering. The continuation of… Deep Within

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Chapter 4

Acquaintances Renewed

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Father and son walked silently up the front steps. In front and above them rose, high and mighty, one of England's largest mansions: Cambridge Manor. It was about the same size as Malfoy Manor itself, and gave off the same bone-chilling effect: haunting and grotesque, filled with an unidentified dark presence. Perfect abode for such a powerful family.

They had gone over this. His father had told him the importance of good impression; good influence. He hadn't wanted to show around some rich little daddy's girl around Hogwarts, going there early. It was completely ludicrous! Yet, Father had said he had to, and that he himself didn't know a good opportunity when it came. We'll just see.

The door was answered by a house-elf, and they were led through numerous dark halls and gloomy stairways. There seemed to be very little lighting at first glance, but appropriate illumination was applied as you passed through. Impressive. Common innovation, but in this house everything seemed impressive.

They finally reached a study, or what seemed to be one of many. In a comfortable chair sat the lord of the house, waiting patiently behind a book or another. Closer inspection brought about the title: Legendary Element Stones: - Lost Ancient Power_._

The gentleman got up casually, with a satisfied smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

"You are finally here, Lucius. So this must be young master Malfoy."

He was given an approving glance, and then a nod. Simpleton.

"Ginger, summon my daughter from her quarters, if you please."

They house-elf nodded, and with a low pop, was gone.

"Take a seat, both of you." The man's gaze turned to Lucius. "So, how are you?"

As the two adults engaged in polite conversation, he took his time to listen; not to the chatter, but for footsteps. This had better be good- he was not being dragged out of home and going to school early for some idiotic snob. This famous she _was probably exactly like that other bitch, Parkinson._

Soon his efforts were rewarded. Almost silent, firm footsteps were heard approaching the study. The door opened of its own accord, and in she stepped.

She was tall, though not overly so, which seemed to be to her advantage. Her figure was flawless. Every curve was there, and her midnight blue robes clung to the right features, giving off a sense of mystery; revealing everything but showing nothing. Jet-black hair was tied up in a bun, while some tendrils of silk still escaped the clip and framed the soft, delicate features of her creamy white skin.

Yet the most interesting thing about her was her eyes. They seemed to be different shades of brown swirling in equal perfection, hypnotising every passer to be compelled to look at her. Damn. She was hot!

"Father, you wished to see me?"

He was sure he had heard that voice before. He just couldn't remember where.

The man gestured expansively towards them, and as Draco looked around he saw a muscle tighten in his father's jaw as the girl looked at him. It made him smile.

As he looked back towards her, a dangerous smile was on her features. He had often imagined the Dark Lord with that smile, but it seemed more terrible here, giving him the compulsion to run. Then it was gone, as her gaze left his father and turned to him, and he couldn't help but stand. 

He took her delicate fingers, which felt so soft, and brought them to his lips gently.

"Draco Malfoy, at your service, Mademoiselle."

The smile which took her features now seemed for all the world like sunshine.

"Cambridge. Clarissa Cambridge. Pleased."

The words flowed from her tongue like water, musical and peaceful-he couldn't help but be intrigued.

"I assure you, the pleasure is mine."

Both fathers seemed very amused by this, no doubt. He didn't care, though. Soon the portkey would have taken him to the Three Broomsticks, where he would take a carriage to Hogwarts. Accompanied by two other individuals, they informed him. Fools, probably. He would soon be on his way to the only place that felt like home.

And soon he was.

***

Harry jumped lithely from the bus, his trunk already disappearing behind him. It would be taken care of. He could see a carriage in the distance, coming their way. He soon felt a firm hand on his shoulder, and looked on, a bit more comforted. To any passer-by, as both stood with their jet-black hair in contrast to their pale skin, tall and thin and proud, they would have looked like father and son.

A glint of silver caught Harry's eye, and he saw a young man with his same physique stride out from the Three Broomsticks. He inwardly groaned. Yet, the individual still walked up to stand beside him, with another companion he couldn't see clearly.

"Hello Professor. _Potter_."

Harry gave a slight nod of greeting, more interested in the other character, who he could see more clearly now. The carriage was nearer.

And then he saw her eyes.

"_Clarissa?_"

They were stepping into the carriage now, as she glanced towards him.

"Broke through the memory charms, then."

Snape raised politely surprised eyebrows and looked toward him, and Harry gave his lopsided smile he was famous for.

"I will explain in due time, _Uncle Severus_."

He looked towards the ever-nearing castle with a sigh, but his smile never faded, as almost everyone in the carriage looked at him in honest surprise.

"In due time."

A/N: So, whaddya think? Good? It took me forever to write, and I'm not even happy with it. Oh well, part of life. Now about these reviews…

**CocaCola**- Of course you gotta love harry. Yahoo!!!

**coconut-ice agent h/h****- **Whaddya mean the last line didn't make all the sense it should. It was powerful, I tell ya, powerful! I'm offended (not!). Snape did say they were going to Hogwarts, in his way. Plus, don't you read your schoolbooks? _You cannot apparate into or out of Hogwarts- Hogwarts: A History._ Plus, Harry doesn't apparate until that time when he gets kid… Oops, shouldn't have said that!

Oh well, toodles. Now if I could just get a clue as to how the story continues…

P.S. This might take a while…


	5. Along Came a Slytherin

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I don't own anything except for CC. Don't sue me. Sorry for the wait guys, but being deprived of a computer and then being made to actually work this year at school because of SATS makes it hard to post. I'll try my best.

Chapter 5

Along Came a Slytherin

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Here he was again.

The trees stood menacingly, towering above and around him; suffocating him. They were breathtaking, snatching the little oxygen he possessed straight out of his lungs and into oblivion. Yet they possessed a cold beauty, one that was hidden behind the cruelty they gave off, that was lost in the never-ending darkness that caressed the forest, where the pure Goddess's light, bright and dim, pale and livid with colour, had never had the chance to offer her soft caresses.

Yes, no light, be it of the moon or of any another source, natural or artificial, had ever been down here. Not tonight.

He pushed her hard against the nearest tree-trunk, the disturbance to the menacing peace of this place most forbidden causing the earth to rumble in protest. Who she was didn't seem to matter to him, as he pinned her wrists above her head shamelessly, with a strong and firm force. All that mattered was lust and desire and want and **need**, all intermingling with conflicting emotions from the rational part of the brain he knew he had. 

Too bad he had left it somewhere unknown to him, so familiar and yet so alien that he didn't waste much time on it as he came to the climax of this most remembered situation.

He kissed her. A kiss so brutal in force yet laden with so much emotion it was overwhelming. He kissed her hard and deep, feeling her mouth open under his, as their tongues did a dance of their own volition, taking control of whatever consciousness he had left. He was here, and she was here, eternally lost in the blissful oblivion of a simple yet magical kiss.

***

Harry sat up with lightening speed as he awakened.

It was that dream all over again.

He dutifully started to change the bed sheets, not noticing the amount of unconscious magic that seemed to just flow out of his fingers, like liquid water flowing freely and of its own accord out of a mountain spring. His mind wandered back to the dream, and the frequency in which he experienced it.

It took him less than a second to remember where he was; and why. Then again, memories work in strange ways.

Dumbledore, true to his character, had insisted they all three new arrivals have a hearty meal and a decent night's sleep. Harry wasn't very hungry, and only after reassurance from the Headmaster that the matter would be dealt with in the morning did he eat; very little. It didn't fill the hollow he still felt.

Sighing wearily, he tidied and dressed, and in slow calm steps made his way to the Great Hall. A very curious thought crossed his mind, making it even more bizarre because of the fact that he had never tried them- in this lifetime anyway. _I need a cappuccino. And a cigarette._

There were only two tables in the Great Hall that morning. One was, of course, the High Table, and the other was set for three. No guessing whom that was for.

Harry was glad to find that he wasn't the only one drinking a cappuccino. In fact, he found it strangely comforting. He idly sipped the calming drink, wondering why he wasn't feeling as perky as others had led him to believe. He simply sat, and listened.

"I don't want to go." 

A quiet voice, polite, but laden with hidden authority. It made him turn around and look at none other than an older version of that little girl. Even after all these years, she still reminded him of the very end of Autumn, so close to winter, when their first encounter (yes, the last had fallen at about the same time too) had so mystically taken place. Strange how they should meet at about the same time now. Well, almost.

It certainly startled him when he realised she was using a _mobile_. He didn't show I though, and instead stated with mild, unattached, interest,

"I thought the current of magic wouldn't let muggle devices work here."

Clarissa Cambridge looked at him, covering the mouthpiece with her hand.

"It's bewitched." She said simply, and a small smile shaped both their lips as they shared a thought.

This, of course, was interrupted by the quiet that followed the comforting buzz coming from the phone. She simply uncovered the mouthpiece.

"But I'm not going!" She said fiercely, then stopped. He plainly saw her forcing herself to calm down.

"Fine. Yes, I think time might soften the blow… That is the wisest thing to do, yes. I'll be seeing you."

Any curiosity Harry might have had was quelled by the approaching of the Headmaster.

"I trust you had a good night's sleep." He stated with a nod, his blue eyes twinkling.

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I didn't know Harry drank coffee.

"Excuse me?" Harry asked automatically, the gritted his teeth, cursing himself. He had to get back into routine, and yet, he knew it would take a while before he could listen to people's thoughts and not have a noticeable reaction.

Meanwhile, the others where looking at him strangely. Except for his old playmate, who was smirking.

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Haven't I thought you anything? She asked silently. He shook his head at the others, though he couldn't keep from smirking too. 

"Never mind me, sir. Do go on." And so he did.

"I trust you have noticed your quarters are in a special common room." He didn't wait for their nod; after all, they would need this information. 

"In this common room they are several portraits, but four in particular are very valuable. The will take you to whatever House it illustrates. I want no invading of other Houses, do you understand?" His voice was stern, but his eyes were shining with amusement.

Harry spoke now, " Has Clarissa been sorted yet?"

The answer came instantly. "No," and then a startled, "You two know each other?"

Harry simply stared a Dumbledore, knowing full well who had probably ordered that memory charm on them both, if not put it himself. He wasn't surprised to note Clarissa was doing the same. He was surprised, however, to hear to sarcastic tone in which she addressed her future headmaster, laced with deadly sweet venom. He was even more surprised at her exact words.

"No shit, Sherlock."


	6. The Talk

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Obligatory Legal Mumbo Jumbo

J.K. Rowling created the Potterverse. Not me. Don't sue-I will plead insanity, and will win. Oh yeah, if by any chance you actually think CC is good, ask to borrow her. Feel free to create a character like her, give her another name and give me zero credit, too. Imitation (no matter how subtle) is the greatest form of flattery, and as we all know, flattery will get you everywhere. 

A/N: Yes, I took long, and, if there are any of you left, I'm sorry. If you don't understand something, leave a review. And thanks for all the reviews I have received so far. Air of mystery- that is so me! (No opinions were asked of the Silver Serpents, so shut up!) I won't bore you with my life, so, here it is, the not-so-awaited chapter six.

Chapter 6

The Talk

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"No shit, Sherlock."

The whole staff seemed to be present, and the whole table heard. The first to get up was Snape, black robes billowing behind as he made his way towards them. The look on his face made Harry want to flee.

"The cheek you have, speaking that way to the Headmaster! You-"

None other than Clarissa cut him off herself, who turned to Harry.

"He isn't talking to me, by any chance?"

"I do believe he is. **Are you completely mad?!**" The calm tone with which Harry started with made a stark contrast to his explosion, and by no way was he done. 

"He might be a bit of a lunatic, but he gets us by. And about to your future Headmaster as well! Liberties! I've never seen a stupider thing done in my life, and, believe me, I have a lot to compare to!"

A perfect silver eyebrow raised in question. "Stupider?"

The quiet voice of the Headmaster interrupted all three of them, knowing full well how out of hand this simple situation could get.

"Harry, would you please come up to my office. I think yours is the more pressing matter." Dumbledore turned to the other two. "We will continue this conversation later."

Harry knew that stern voice meant real trouble, but he couldn't help but glare at Cambridge, spitting out one single spiteful word. It was only later he realised he had spoken in Parseltongue.

"Slytherin."

He heard the hiss she shot back, loud and clear, hurtful in its truthful irony, just as he walked out of the Hall.

"Kettle calling the pot black."

***

The Headmaster looked older than ever as Harry sat across from him in the all too familiar office.

"Harry," the Headmaster sighed. His gaze was averted down to the table, his elbows supporting him.

"I never should have let it come to this. I should have stopped it. I should have known." Dumbledore's gaze finally lifted, and Harry would forever remember the haunted look he saw in the man's eyes. "I'm sorry."

"You couldn't have known." Harry said quietly. There was a faint buzzing in his mind; it was making him just a bit light-headed, and dizzy. All the resent, the pain, the anger had dissipated as he had seen the Headmaster's face, and though in the beginning he had been feeling strangely calm, he now felt-well, **high** was one way to put it. 

"Harry." Albus sighed. "Harry, Harry, Harry."

Harry realised by now something was definitely wrong- with him. He couldn't focus his eyes. He could just see bright blue, pure blue light, the light a pure flame of fire gives. The light burned just as much as the fire. That was the moment when he stop fighting, and it-whatever **it** was- enveloped him.

Albus Dumbledore's words of concern went unheard, because at that moment Harry was certainly no longer at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, but in another place entirely.

***

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A girl. A boy. A man. Tommy-Riddle. Father. Albus Dum-no; Mc something was his real name? Mother. Uncle. His Kat; his kit-kat. In a coma. Dead. Forever gone. Death. Summerland. Hell. Roger. Samantha. Adolf. Germany. Spy. Alexander. War. Hiding. Conspiracy. Witch. Hunting. Burning. Brazil. Pain. Suffering. Love. Lost. 

Memories and visions past and present swirled before his eyes. Things from this life; past lives, future lives; they invaded his mind, infested his thoughts in no particular order, and his eyelids flew open. He really wanted nothing more than blissful ignorance realising he had had only moments ago. Was it moments, or was it hours, days? It took a while for him to regain his sight; a sight tinted by a golden blue, and he never knew how for long he lay- for, yes, he was lying down-but he simply did, motionless, staring intently at the ceiling, unseeing.

At least he didn't need his glasses.

***

"Headmaster, I understand you needed someone…trustworthy as you called me to watch over him, and that this is some form of cruel and unusual punishment, but isn't he awake now?" A light, arrogant, lazy drawl queried.

"Glad to see you are referring to me as "Headmaster" now. It appears **someone** had an influence on you."

"Oh yes, Albus, I am _easily _influenced by absolutely _everyone_, and actually calling your Headmaster "Headmaster" is apparently all the rage in Paris, didn't you know."

Dumbledore was stopped in mid chuckle, as Harry looked his way. Harry's eyes were completely blue: no iris, no pupil; nothing but pure blue light shining out of his torch-like eyes like laser beams. The current Headmaster was strangely relieved when he realised the gaze wasn't directed at him, but at Miss Cambridge beside him. He was surprised, however, as she returned the gaze, unflinching and unblinking, as if nothing were minutely wrong.

Harry abruptly sat up, the sheets falling and revealing him in the usual Hospital Wing pyjama bottoms. The muscles he had been improving over the summer were clearly in display. His chest was bare.

It could be said that all three parties in the room blinked, and in that blink the blue flame was lost.

"Err… how did I get…err…here, exactly?"

Dumbledore himself was speechless, reflecting on the previous "phenomena", so Cambridge eloquently yet bluntly explained. She seemed not to care for such a thing as subtlety.

"You fainted in Albus' office. Duh!"

The American accent was all too clear in that sentence.

So were the smiles each person wore; if for different reasons.

Yes, they were all remembering.


	7. BOS

**__**

Obligatory Legal Mumbo Jumbo

J.K. Rowling created the Potterverse. Not me. Don't sue-I will plead insanity, and will win. Oh yeah, if by any chance you actually think CC is good, ask to borrow her. Feel free to create a character like her, give her another name and give me zero credit, too. Imitation (no matter how subtle) is the greatest form of flattery, and as we all know, flattery will get you everywhere

__

A/N: As always, doubts will be answered, if I have time. This happens more often than you think.

****

Chapter 7

BOS

__

I guess it's strange the way things turn out. Dumbledore sat across from me in his circular, oddly comforting office, and slid this book across the table. It's a plain black book, but I will change that soon. I guess he realised I needed to sort out my feelings-they feel so muddled. I guess is should start at the beginning, it would benefit me after all.

Strange that I would want to keep a thing that feels so much like a diary. It would be strange to Ron and Hermione, at least. The Dursleys never let me keep a diary, so I guess that influenced me too. How everything's changed.

I realise I'm eluding the subject. So I'll stop. When I was small, and the Dursleys had somewhere to go, they would make sure o rub it in my face that I was not going. They would, instead, leave me at Mrs. Figg's house- she became not only a neighbour but also my babysitter. I wasn't the only she used to baby-sit, though.

Alas, I was one of three. She often let us play together, and we instantly became best friends. I understood the Dursleys weren't to know this, so I kept quiet in front of them, especially Dudley. That's the only reason I didn't blow him up when he taunted me about being a loner.

My best friends were Draco Malfoy and Clarissa Cambridge.

Being naïve little children, of course we told each other about our lives. Draco and Clarissa taught me all about magick. One time we saw Dudley walking up the street and we wished hard he would trip. It was so funny when I found out he had tripped on a tomato plant and now stood before me, hair and skin covered in diluted patches of red. I was glad they had taught me how to conceal my feelings; I just looked at him innocently and asked what had happened. Sure, Uncle Vernon beat me when he found out, because even if it wasn't my fault he would blame it on me anyway, but this time I had a spark of triumph.

Those days seem so short a time in comparison to the lonely life I held. I was never told why, but I remember the word obliviate echoing in my ears, and waking up as if those days had never existed. I still don't know how I broke through those memory charms now.

I wonder what life would be like if we hadn't been obliviated. It is probably happening in an alternate universe where I never had to pretend I am somebody else. The again, I'm sure that life has its drawbacks. Every one does.

Draco hasn't broken through the memory charms yet, and I'm thinking he never will. I could help him along if he wanted, or Clarissa could. I wonder how I will go through the school year having known Draco as wee tyke. Maybe it won't be so bad after all. 

Oh yeah, might as well relieve the harder moments of this summer as well. I hadn't understood why Uncle Vernon had been being so much crueller to me lately. It all made sense yesterday. I had visions, beautiful and terrifying, of the past, present and future. Past lives, future lives; present facts I didn't know all flashed before my eyes. Dudley has developed some sort of disease. The doctor's think it might be Cushing's Syndrome or summat - and they have a very high chance of being right, as they are the best doctors money can buy. Since he found out, Uncle Vernon has been going to the Rat and Parrot, the nearest pub, and drowning his sorrows. Too bad he had to vent his frustrations on me. I guess him being intoxicated counts a little in his favour, and at least no one else in the house got hurt. I've proved I could deal with it. I just hope Dudley is okay. He is my mother's nephew after all. I hope Aunt Petunia is okay as well.

--Shynnagh Gial-- 

Harry closed the book. He held his hand over the cover, concentrating, the words flowing out of his lips as naturally as carbon dioxide. Then a hissing sound was heard. Parseltongue. He had just set a password to the still plain-looking book. He continued; he wasn't by any means finished. Silver stripes appeared, running down the book, and golden lettering surfaced on the cover. Harry now opened his eyes, and examined his handiwork. The cover looked like a stormy sky, the silver lightning strikes sizzling down. Across were three single golden letters that finished off the book, exactly as he had placed them in his mind.

B.O.S.

Book of Shadows. 


	8. Birthdays Bring Change

**__**

Yes, I know, I can't come up with my own characters, so I took someone else's. And? You best believe that I'm crazy (and studying German!), so don't mess with the witch! I'll stop chatting foolishness, I promise. Soon (After Chapter 12, to be precise), Harry will realise how horrible it is to be powerful, and how difficult it is to train. In the meantime, A short little chapter about how happiness is, well, a Slytherin thing (not really, but hey!).

Chapter 8

Birthdays Bring Change

Time passed quickly for Harry. It seemed that all too soon it was Sunday, the 30 of July, the day before his fifteenth birthday. Harry had spoken to Draco about the memory charm **thing**, and with both his and Clarissa's help Draco now had his full memory restored. Life was beginning to fall into routine. Harry personally hated routine and the fact that none of this had sunk in and he was just blindly following didn't help any either.

It's your birthday tomorrow." Draco stated, looking up at Harry's entrance into their common room.

Yes, they had a common room. The Headmaster had asked them if they wanted to keep it for the rest of their life at Hogwarts, and all of them had agreed. It was fun really, having access to all the House common rooms and yet having something all your own, well, almost.

"Yes." Harry answered calmly. He sat down and, following Draco's example, picked up his book from the coffee table in front of him and started reading it. It was his copy of Phantom of the Opera. 

"You don't seem too excited. What's planned for the Boy Who Lived's gracious birthday?"

"Nothing." Harry shrugged, absorbed by the book.

"We could go to Hogsmead and make a new man out of you. You know, actual clothes, yeah, not sacks, and maybe get you a decent haircut."

Harry laughed richly.

"When, oh so valiant cousin, will you be stepping out of the closet?"

Draco scowled. "If you don't mind, I am still in denial." He said matter-of-factly.

They both hid a smile. No use keeping secrets from telepaths.

"So, are you up for it or not?"

"Sure." Harry answered.

"Should I invite Clarissa?"

"Invite me where?"

Clarissa had just walked out of her room, dressed in a long T-shirt and low cut jeans that hugged her figure. Her hair, reaching almost down to her wait, was dripping wet, and she was absently drying it with a towel.

__

Goddess was Harry's only thought.

"Hello? Is this like the Twilight Zone or something? I have a lesson in twenty minutes." She said, looking at them expectantly.

Harry smiled, knowing full well what that show was, yet not knowing why. 

"To Harry's make-over!" Draco drawled in that impeccable British accent that they all had.

Clarissa raised an eyebrow, while Harry hid a somewhat embarrassed smile.

"Okay. I really wouldn't want to miss it." She had a devious smile on her face.

Harry couldn't help but laughing as he replied.

"Fine, I'll agree to this, whatever this is, but you have to promise me that we will not do this in the traditional Slytherin way. That means no burning of my clothes, no dragging me out only in my boxers, and no picture taking that will be passed among the staff. Stop influencing her, Draco, because you know she will end up as a Ravenclaw."

They pretended to be disappointed as they all walked out of the room for the last class of the day-Harry and Draco had agreed to keep Clarissa company. It wouldn't hurt their grades in terms of revision for their O.W.L.s either. And as they came back from Greenhouse 7, one usually only for Professor Sprout's personal collection of rare and dangerous plants, muddy and sweaty, and as Draco had so bluntly pointed out "undignified", Harry couldn't help but feel endlessly happy.


	9. Birthday Alliances

**__**

Not mine; J.K. Rowling's. Please don't sue. I have a fluffy pink bunny phobia. This is longer than usual. I need some names and corresponding sweets for chapter 12. Please help, I'll be waiting. No, it's not kinky (the sweets- I mean, Dumbledore is another matter entirely…).

Deep Within 9

Birthday Alliances

Harry woke up with a feeling of dread. Did he have something to do today? _Today's Monday_, he thought with a yawn. _Haven't all lessons been cancelled?_ He lazily walked into his bathroom; how cool, a private bathroom **and** his own room. He stripped, turning on the shower, before entering.

He yelled. That water was **freezing**! That, of course, reminded him what day it was. _Right. July 31st. My birthday. Isn't life wonderful?_ He thought with sarcasm, deciding he would keep the cold shower just to spite those two obvious culprits, before finishing to get ready.

He stepped out of his room, hair still slightly wet.

"Had a nice shower?" Draco asked innocently.

"Yes." Harry said firmly, trying to convince himself. "Yes I did."

"Everybody ready?" Clarissa asked, her smirk matching Draco's.

Harry sighed as if he were about to walk the plank. "Let's get this over with, then."

They marched solemnly downstairs, into the great hall.

"Are you trying to create a before and after effect?" Harry asked suspiciously. 

Clarissa raised her eyebrows while Draco snickered. "No, I'm just hungry." She clarified, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

They all sat down and ordered their breakfast, while nearby the Headmaster had a hushed conversation with Snape, before turning to them.

"Professor Snape has a few errands to run, so he will be accompanying you three into Hogsmeade. Maybe, on Thursday we won't have to cancel all the lessons?" He added, eyes twinkling above his half-moon spectacles.

"You don't have to." Clarissa said softly. And then, "Great, I'm going to be seen with Potter and a treacher." 

"Don't you mean teacher?" Harry asked, knowing full well that her mind had been on the word treacherous when she had spoken.

She nodded absently. Harry was about to lean over and ask Draco what was happening on Thursday, before he remembered: it was Clarissa's birthday on the third.

***

"Try this one," Draco suggested for what had to be the hundredth time. He was buying clothes for Harry, and there were already two huge piles of masculine clothes outside the dressing room Harry was currently using; one pile for clothes already tried, and one for those yet to try on. Clarissa had gone off with Snape to look at potion ingredients or something. 

"Fine!" Harry huffed. He slipped on the trousers and the shirt, before stepping out of the dressing room he was beginning to despise. "How do I look?"

Harry stopped as he looked in the mirror. He'd bought a few pair of jeans (and lots of robes and T-shirts, blouses…), but these were just black trousers and a shirt. The shirt seem to hint at the muscles he had under it, but not expose them or show them off, and he was glad Draco had realised that he did not like the tight **things** Draco had made him try on before. He liked these. 

"Okay, I suppose, once I get your hair cut." Draco drawled lazily, inspecting him.

Harry shook his head vehemently, but Draco just looked at him, silently reminding him he had promised and somehow silently suggested he would be better off. 

"Fine," Harry sighed, defeated.

"Great. So let's just get all, and I mean **all** of these, and then we can go see about your hair." Draco smiled.

****

Three hours later, Harry walked out of the - whatever Draco had called it. He was still in doubt as to why he had magically corrected his eyesight. _Something about the upcoming fight? _Harry wondered vaguely, as he saw Snape and Clarissa walking towards them.

Clarissa's eyebrows were raised, but her eyes were appreciative all the same, before landing on Draco.

"Good job," she congratulated. "So, do you want your gift now, or later?" She had turned back to Harry.

"Do you have it here?" Harry asked with a smile.

"Good point," she conceded, before offering both her arms. That's how they walked back to the school, arms linked, laughing amiably.

__

Like old friends. Snape thought, a hint of sadness tinting it.

***

The common room they all shared had been silently divided, so one part was already Harry's corner, one Draco's and one Clarissa's. It came as a surprise to Harry however, as he looked at his corner and saw a number of presents lying at the foot of the couch, and a neatly wrapped parcel on top of the couch with the simple inscription _To Harry_ in neat writing. He knew at once whom that was from. He had never seen so many presents in his life, not for him anyway.

His eyes considerably widened, and he managed to whisper a "Wow!"

His two companions smiled, and gave him a little shove in the direction of the couch. Soon enough, he was picking up presents at random and opening them.

One was obviously from the Weasleys, and as he opened it two separate parcels fell out. He opened the bulgier one first. It was one of the famous Weasley jumpers, along with a delicious-looking birthday cake. The other was from Ron, and it was a copy of _He Flew Like A Madman_, by _Kennilworthy Whisp_. A birthday card was attached. It read:

__

Happy Birthday Harry!

I hope this gets to you in time. Fred and George helped me with the book, and they said I should mention it, by the way. Everyone says hi, and we all wish you a happy meal!

See you soon,

Ron.

There were some cakes from Hagrid, which actually looked edible, and a note saying Maxime had made them and that Hagrid probably wouldn't be back in time for the beginning of the school year. He had no time to wonder about this, however, as he opened Hermione's present and realised she had sent him his first copy of _Which Broomstick? _And a note telling him he was now subscribed to the monthly Quidditch magazine. There were some other assorted gifts, and then finally, the only one left was the shimmering package on the couch, its wrapping flashing colours every second.

He sat on the couch and put the parcel on his lap, immediately feeling it to be fragile. He carefully unwrapped the gift. Inside the multicoloured wrapping was an aged, leather-bound book. It seemed to him to be in excellent condition, because it gave the impression of being charmed and so much older than it appeared.

He looked at Clarissa inquiringly.

"The book is much bigger than it looks, by the way," she said with a smile.

Harry looked back at the book, and finally noticed the elegant faded writing on its cover, and he was awed.

It read three simple words.

__

Musings by Merlin.


	10. A Birthday Sorting and Bad News

**__**

The characters are not mine; that's why this is called a fan-fiction. The Potterverse is not real, muggles- I mean, yeah. We do not travel in tunnels. Mary Poppins was never here. This is a dream.

Deep Within 10

A Birthday Sorting 

The next days were filled with lessons, including Thursday. They were secretly told by Flitwick to bring their gifts to the last lesson of the day though, and Harry was wondering how on Earth Clarissa hadn't found out yet. In fact, she seemed to have forgotten it was her birthday.

Draco and Harry had bought a joint gift for Clarissa. It took a lot of work to find, and when they did it was absurdly expensive, but they bought it anyway. Clarissa was a big fan of history, especially the "occult" part; the hidden secrets most people didn't realise. So in Draco's backpack, while the three were on their way to the last lesson in Transfiguration (only Potions to go and Clarissa would be on the same level as the other fifth-years) was a book called _Slytherin's Memoirs_, written by Salazar Slytherin himself. Harry sincerely hoped she would like it.

They finally reached T9, their Transfiguration classroom for today, and opened the door.

"Where are all the desks?" Clarissa asked with confusion, as all three students took in the sight of all the Heads of all the Houses talking to the Headmaster at the front of the room.

Dumbledore turned around with his usual twinkling smile, and Harry noticed Clarissa's eyes narrow almost imperceptibly.

"Why happy birthday, Clarissa!" he said jovially, and the other teachers present echoed the Headmaster's sympathies.

"Is that the Sorting Hat?" Draco asked, catching sight of it.

And indeed it was. Looking old and battered, it sat on the table behind Dumbledore.

"I'm getting sorted **today**?" Clarissa inquired, raising her eyebrows.

"Yes. I'm sorry to not have mentioned it earlier, but tomorrow we start picking the prefects." Dumbledore stated, gesturing to the four other members of staff around him. "We are all quite interested to see in which House you will end up."

"Are you implying I might become a prefect?"

"Something like that." Dumbledore smiled.

"By Morgana de Faye, they think I'm a good student! Where have I gone wrong? Right," She stated, as if she had a plan, before pointing to Harry and Draco, "you two you will be henchmen, and we must start plotting pranks greater than the Weasley Twins'!" she concluded, sounding very much like Sir Cadogan.

"Clarissa," Harry began, "shut up." He concluded, Draco voice joining his.

The Sorting Hat actually cleared its throat.

"Now Clarissa," the Headmaster cautioned, handling the hat to her as she sat down on a nearby chair, "I'm afraid the hat will be very loud when shouting out the House." His eyes danced merrily behind his glasses.

"No one will hear what the hat says, right?" She warned dangerously, looking at Harry, while he shook his head.

She put the hat on her head, and immediately all was silent.

Time passed.

More time passed.

And even more time passed.

The hat seemed to be in a lively conversation with Clarissa.

Harry wished he had a watch. Sortings weren't supposed to take this long. He wondered what exactly was being said inside her head, while noticing that the way the hat was on her head made it look-more expensive, or newer, or maybe just hers.

"Slytherin." The hat said, very softly.

There was something very wrong with the way the hat said that. It was usually so sure, and shouted it out proudly for all to hear. Not that this sounded unsure, just devoid of any feeling. Hats don't have feelings though, right? Anyway, it seemed her gift was much more appropriate now.

Clarissa removed the hat, looking surprised, but Draco and Snape were smirking.

Harry took out the book out of his backpack, and weighed it in his hand.

"Think fast," he said, while throwing the book to her.

She caught it in a flash without even looking at it.

"Happy Birthday. We both bought it. Harry and I." Draco said, while Harry nodded.

She opened it, and stared long and hard at the cover before smiling.

"This is cool. Thanks."

***

"You're not even going to glance at my gift, are you?" Clarissa asked without looking up.

Three weeks had gone by, and they were all in the common room, going about their business.

Well, at least trying to.

The common room was literally filled with newspapers from the past month, and Clarissa was sorting out through them, reading every detail in very single one, be it muggle or not. Harry had picked one that she had already read and started reading it, and after awhile so had Draco.

"I am, just not right now." Harry answered lazily. In eight days the students would get here. That meant classes would start on a Saturday. The great injustice of the world just never stopped.

"What are you doing, anyway?" Draco asked.

"I'm trying to find out how active Voldie has been."

Harry nearly choked with laughter. "Voldie?" he managed to gasp out.

She looked evenly at him, and then sighed as she looked back at the papers.

"Maybe I should try the French ones, or German ones. Italy's and Austria's papers might help as well."

"Can you read all that?" Harry asked dubiously.

"Translation spells." She stated simply, before walking out of the common room to find the newspapers she had just mentioned.

"Am I the only one who thinks she's a nutter?" Harry asked.

"Nope." Draco said, turning the page of today's Daily Prophet.


	11. Fidgets and An Awakening

**__**

I don't own any of the characters, except for CC. Again, my pleas for names and sweets for the next chapter, in which we meet Luna (briefly)! Oh yeah, and the Dream Team is back. (Has anyone ever watched that show? It has absolutely nothing to do with our known and almost-loved characters. It's about a football team. A guy died in the finale to the last season. I gathered this from commercials on Sky One, while watching good shows like the Simpsons. Unfortunately, I'm not being paid to advertise.)

Chapter 11

Fidgets and An Awakening

"I would very much appreciate it if you stopped walking around the room, Clarissa." Harry stated through gritted teeth.

He had just come back from a few laps on the extremely hot pitch (and a race with Draco), and Clarissa had been sorting though today's newspapers. She had caught up, it seemed. Alas, she kept fidgeting, and walking up and down the room, and it was seriously getting on his nerves. At this rate, he would never finish his copy of _Phantom of the Opera_.

"Yeah. Are you on your period or something?" Draco drawled, reading, of all things, _The Iron Cauldron _by _Professor Severus Snape_.

"No, I'm not." She answered with a sigh.

"Then, do you suffer from permanent PMS?" Draco drawled again, this time looking up with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Clarissa glared, but didn't say anything.

"So why are you so worried exactly?" Harry finally asked, deciding it was better than going over there and throttling her. Draco re-immersed himself in his book.

She stared at him incredulously. "Why am I worried? Doesn't it worry you that far too many people, muggles, have been dying and their cause put down as heat?"

"Well it is hot this summer." Harry said matter-of-factly.

She gritted her teeth. "Okay," she managed to force out, "doesn't the fact that Lord Voldermort seems virtually inactive throughout the first summer he's been back worry you? Or doesn't the _Boy Who Lived _care about such things?"

"Why should I worry? If anything was happening the Headmaster would have told me." Harry stated logically. He was not going to let her get the best of him. She was not annoying him, **really**.

"You are so blissfully ignorant! You great un-fish! Don't you realise that while people are suffering you are virtually locked in this castle with no news whatsoever?" she exploded.

"I told you," Harry stated, his voice getting considerably louder, "if people were suffering the Headmaster would know. Anyway, I don't mind being _locked _in this castle since it is **the safest place to be**!"

"I never said Dumbledolt didn't **know**, I just said he wasn't going to tell his precious students, especially **you**! And as for this being the safest place, as if! Would you please explain to me how **Voldermort himself** got in the castle in year 1, how his younger self almost **killed** your so-called **best friend**, how a convicted **criminal** managed to slash the entrance to your common-room, and how a portkey placed by a **member** of **staff** got you from **the safest place** to a **graveyard** where your **blood **brought back the **Dark Lord**?!?!"

Harry just stared, before trying to blink himself back to a state where he could speak. He couldn't right now. He finally understood the meaning of the word "speechless". Before he could however, he saw Clarissa's eyes widen, and she ran out of the room.

"She's got a point, you know," Draco said conversationally.

Harry was still speechless, and realising he was now standing up, sat back down, picked up his book, and nodded absently, still bewildered.

***

"Are you okay?" Harry and Draco both asked as soon as she came in. They hadn't moved much since she'd left; until they realised that she'd been gone nearly three hours. At that point, of course, they did what any reasonable person does, and started pacing.

Harry wanted to apologise. She had just been worrying about innocent muggle lives. As much as he hated to admit it, she had a point. A point he planned to confront the Headmaster with.

"You have passion, but without evidence you won't get as far as a closing argument," Clarissa stated tiredly. He noticed she had a drop of blood on her lip, and that she was extremely pale. As soon as he thought this, though, she wiped the blood off, and some colour seemed to return to her cheeks.

"Are you okay?" Draco asked again, not quite understanding what or why Clarissa had stated what she had. Harry quickly thought it to him.

"Not particularly. I'm doing rather poorly." She didn't offer an explanation, so Harry asked why.

She looked exhausted, and the colour again faded from her cheeks. She sighed, then fixed her eyes intently on the fireplace.

"It's nothing much, really, but since I trust you two, and I know you won't think me a fool…Well, I got this vivid image of what had to be a Death Eater, standing next to Voldie, torturing a muggle. His name was Edward Howards, or Howard Edwards, and he seemed to have found out something significant about electricity. I took his pain, heavens, don't ask me how! I felt the stab of a level 2,3,4 Cruciatus. Then it was all gone, and I found myself retching my own blood." She sighed, steadying her voice, but looked better for having said it aloud.

Harry turned to Draco. "Not much, she says," He stated, disbelieving of that fact. "I'm sure he died a painless death, since you felt it. Very **compassionate** of you." Harry continued. The scary thing was that he believed her.

"Are you sure you'll be able to sleep?" Draco asked, concerned. He knew more about torture than he let on.

She nodded, then retreated to her room.

"I hope she will." Harry said softly, at a loss of how to deal with this. Hugging her would have been an intrusion; she flinched once when Draco had accidentally touched her hair.

"If she isn't able, I'm sure you could always go in her room and **cuddle**," Draco said, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

"Oh, do shut up!" Harry exclaimed, his cheeks reddening.

"You know as well as I do that she is sizzling. And you went all ga-ga and googly-eyed when you saw her in jeans. You've got the hots for her…" Draco concluded, singing.

It seemed that speechlessness was becoming a habit for Harry. He couldn't come up with one convincing denial. 


	12. Old Friends, Old Foes

A/N:

I own nothing. The characters are all the sublime figments of Rowling's imagination. Please don't sue me. I would plead insanity anyway, so no point in it. **I would like to warn all that I do incorporate everything I do, listen, read, etc.; so if you recognise something I'm truly sorry for not mentioning you personally. Enough of my blabbering. I present… The wonderful AU of Deep Within**

If you're clever you'll notice the change to the song. I figure if I'm taking the characters, might as well take the beautiful yet long song, right? And I know the chap is long and I'm weird, but bear with me. I'll try to explain everything in time, but if you don't understand or think I've forgotten, feel free to tell me. And remember Harry hasn't realised anything yet, as has fallen a bit more into character with his friends around.

Deep Within

Chapter 12

Old Friends, Old Foes

It was breezy the night Harry left for Hogsmeade train station. Harry felt a numb coldness gripping him, from the inside. He had had another dream about Voldermort. He had seen a poor muggle girl being tortured, cruelly, brutally and mercilessly. The thing that troubled him most, though, was the conversation he overhead: a certain connection between electricity and magical energy. _He_ wanted the information, and he wanted a scientist that could study this supposed phenomenon for him and prove it. Not disprove, but definitely prove. He remembered Clarissa's face, pale, with a drop of blood still on her lips. The implications of this on the growth rate of Voldermort's power were absolutely catastrophic. All this, and the school year hadn't even officially started yet.

That wasn't the only thing bothering him. Making him think of Ron and Hermione, or more importantly, him with Ron and Hermione, was making him feel, well, different to say the least. He certainly didn't feel like himself.

With these thoughts swirling around in his head, it certainly didn't take him long to reach the station. He took a deep breath; if he looked down and left, in a direction vaguely towards London, he could faintly see a pair of dim lights.

They were, of course, getting closer.

Harry sighed heavily. He was confused. A whole new wealth of information had been revealed to him, a whole new wealth of further information was available to him in an instant. He had just re-encountered his two childhood best friends (granted, secret, even from him). How was he supposed to deal?

They **were** Slytherins. One of them was even the son of a Death Eater (was Cambridge a Death Eater?). The school would not accept Harry Potter, Golden Boy (to use a very popular Slytherin nickname) being friends with two Slytherins. Alas, he sighed, sadly, he was.

Now, they had agreed to keep their common room, with their own individual rooms. How was he going to explain that to Ron and Hermione? Clarissa had cleverly suggested that it was for his safety. That was a good excuse, but would Ron and Hermione know there was more to it? Could he even keep his friendship with the two Slytherins a secret, at least during the day? He sure hoped so.

He heard a whistle. The realised train was approaching, and his suspicions were confirmed when that was loudly announced by an elderly wizard, that he located with ease in what looked like one of those muggle non-smoker waiting rooms. Soon enough, he saw the train hurrying towards the station.

_Let's see if I've learned anything_, he thought to himself. He concentrated on Hermione and Ron, their (denied) could-it-be-love for each other, their care for him, their moods, their ways; in short, their energy patterns. He smiled, because he train was pulling to a stop, and he'd **located** them, in the 7th carriage.

He walked to it, the smile still on his face Ron and Hermione walked out, and their surprise at seeing him right in front of the right carriage quickly passed.

"Harry!" Hermione shouted happily, throwing her arms around him. He laughed, lifted her up and spun her around. "Hermione," he answered, giving her a winning smile.

He saw the happiness in her eyes fade out and worry settle in, but before she could bombard him with questions, he felt a heavy slap on the back, a bit too hard.

"Ron!" Harry turned around, greeting his friend with another smile. Ron was tall; Harry had to look up to him, literally.

"How've you been, mate?" Ron asked.

"I'm absolutely great, now that you're both here. Come on, let's go get a carriage!"

They walked to a nearby carriage, and Harry noted some horrid yet beautiful creatures ready to pull it. He only thought, _oh_, and opened the door. There was a girl sitting there, with straggly blonde black hair, and a lonely expression that quickly lit up as she smiled at them.

"Can we share?" Harry asked.

"Sure!" she said. She was a bit younger, maybe a fourth year. "I'm Luna."

Harry smiled. "He's Ron, that's Hermione, and I'm Harry." He pointed at each of his friends respectively, while they got seated.

"Harry, you'll never guess what, I'm a Prefect!" Hermione exclaimed happily.

"And I've heard you are too, Harry. Congratulations." Ron added, though there was a hint of longing in his voice.

"Aw, I tried, Ron, but they wouldn't take no for an answer. You should have seen U-Snape's face, though, it was hilarious!"

That brought a smile to his face. Harry's smile, though, had become fixed. He had been about to say _Uncle Sev_.

The ride passed pleasantly enough, without any other incidents. Harry discovered that Luna was a fourth year, that her father owned a very different wizard magazine ("For crackpots," Ron had whispered knowingly), and that there had been a prefect meeting on the train. He couldn't keep himself from remembering the events of last year, however, and this made Harry feel immensely tired, like a heavy burden was his alone to bear, but his shoulders couldn't take it.

"Have you any idea who the female Slytherin Prefect is?" Hermione asked, after sitting herself next to him. Ron sat on his other side, as all found themselves in that grandiose room they all called the Great Hall.

Harry had no time to answer, caught up as he was in the hustle and bustle of the first day back. Children were shouting across the hall, catching up with friends, smiling. At least, some children were. Others, however, were sombre, or whispering conspiratorially about something, and looking straight at Harry. Harry tried his best to ignore them, and concentrated instead on the Staff. He noticed a few empty seats, which he found decidedly odd. The most peculiar thing he noticed, however, which distracted him from discovering who was absent or why, was the new teacher sitting bang in the middle of the Staff table.

She, for yes, it had to be a she, was sitting there, perfectly calm and composed, her fiery auburn curls framing a well-sculpted yet rigid face that was not unlike that of Professor McGonagall, drinking from a glass, and staring at the Slytherin table. Harry wondered why a teacher would stare at the Slytherin table, and was about to make his views clear to Hermione or Ron, when Professor McGonagall came in, throwing the doors open with flourish, and the Sorting was called to a start.

The poor, terrified, wet little first-years tried their best to form an orderly line, but it was hopeless from the start. Harry could remember vividly how he had felt on that first day, and his heart went out to those little ones.

The whole school silenced, and at the Sorting Hat chose this opportune moment to open its mouth (if a wide rip can be called a mouth) and burst into the song it had been preparing for a whole year:

_In times of old when I was new_

_And Hogwarts barely started_

_The founders of our noble school_

_Thought never to be parted:_

_United by a common goal,_

_They had the selfsame yearning,_

_To make the world's best magic school_

_And pass along their learning._

_'Together we will build and teach!'_

_The four good friends decided_

_And never did they dream that they_

_Might some day be divided._

_For were there such friends anywhere_

_As Slytherin and Gryffindor?_

_Unless it was the second pair_

_Of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw?_

_So how could it have gone so wrong?_

_How could such friendships fail?_

_Why, I was there and so can tell_

_The whole sad, sorry tale._

_Said Slytherin, 'We'll teach just those_

_Whose ancestry is purest.'_

_Said Ravenclaw, 'We'll teach just those whose_

_Intelligence is surest.'_

_Said Gryffindor, 'We'll teach all those_

_With brave deeds to their name.'_

_Said Hufflepuff, 'I'll teach the lot,_

_And treat them just the same.'_

_These differences caused little strife_

_When they first came to light,_

_For each of the four founders had_

_A house in which they might_

_Take only those they wanted so,_

_For instance Slytherin_

_Took only pure blood wizards_

_Of great cunning, just like him,_

_And only those of sharpest mind_

_Were taught by Ravenclaw_

_While the bravest and boldest_

_Went to daring Gryffindor._

_Good Hufflepuff, she took the rest,_

_And taught them all she knew,_

_Thus the houses and their founders_

_Retained friendships firm and true._

_So Hogwarts worked in harmony_

_For several happy years,_

_But then discord crept among us_

_Feeding on our faults and fears._

_The houses that, like pillars four,_

_Had once held up our school,_

_Now turned upon each other and,_

_Divided, sought to rule._

_And for a while it seemed the school_

_Must meet an early end,_

_What with duelling and with fighting,_

_And the clash of friend on friend_

_And at last there came a morning_

_When old Slytherin departed_

_And though the fighting then died out_

_He left us quite downhearted._

_And never since the founders four_

_Were whittled down to three_

_Have the houses been united_

_As they all were meant to be._

_And now the Sorting Hat is here_

_And you all know the score:_

_I sort you into houses_

_Because that is what I'm for,_

_But this year I'll go further,_

_Listen closely to my song:_

_Though condemned I am to split you_

_Still I worry that it's wrong,_

_Though I must fulfil my duty_

_And must quarter every year_

_Still I wonder whether Sorting_

_May not bring the end I fear._

_Oh, know the perils, read the signs,_

_The warning history shows,_

_For our Hogwarts is in danger_

_From external, deadly foes_

_And we must unite inside her_

_Or we'll crumble from within_

_I have told you, I have warned you…_

_Let the Sorting now begin._

For the first time in his life, Harry heard the population of Hogwarts pause, indecisive, before beginning to clap. He, though, made no hesitations, and clapped harder and louder than he ever imagined, ignoring the crowd's whispers and puzzled looks. He was, in fact, glad of Professor McGonagall fierce stares that could knock the wind out of you, because it calmed down the students, and she was able to read her names in a state much closer to silence. She read them with her usual, calm, rigid voice, and the line of first years thinned, but Harry hardly noticed, clapping along only when Hermione nudged him in the ribs. He had, during his clapping at the Hat's song, noticed something decidedly unnerving. Hagrid's usual bulk was missing from the Staff table, and in his place was Professor Grubby-Plank. He didn't like that one bit, or the fact that the new teacher was now staring intently at him. That wouldn't have troubled him much, Harry realised, if it didn't feel as if she were invading his very essence, searching, inspecting,…

… intruding.

He didn't like it. He didn't like it one bit.


	13. Teacher, Teacher

_Yep…not mine…sue me! Please! It will take my mind off exams! Yes I know this took ages, and there is no excuse. Now, though, I have my wonderful Kaz pestering me, so it will hopefully be quicker. And, yes, I watch charmed!_

Chapter 13 Teacher, teacher 

The next morning Harry was up bright and early, a proud prefect for his house. He sipped his coffee, wondering if he could snatch the paper off Clarissa. Harry frowned. Of course he couldn't. He wondered if she was at the Slytherin table, but didn't see her.

"Schedules, Harry!" Hermione said, giving him some to distribute. He did so easily, giving them to the right people, before sitting back down and enjoying a traditional English breakfast. Well, as much as he could without getting sick of the grease, at any rate.

No sooner had he convinced himself he would not be reading the paper today, owls starting flying into the hall, making a general mess of breakfast. He grimaced; he would have to find a spell to protect his breakfast from parcels just blobbing into it. Maybe a variation on a shielding spell? He saw a brown barn owl wait respectfully by Hermione, and leave immediately after she placed three knuts in its pouch, right as she snatched the paper with a grim huff.

Ron took his time to plomp himself next to Harry with a sigh, looking tired, worn and way too tall for his own good. Hermione silently handed him his schedule, her eyes furiously darting from left to right on the newspaper. Harry counted silently, having already seen his timetable. _One, two, three…_

"We have Double Potions first thing in the morning. Bloody hell! We have Double POTIONS first thing in the morning? We have to suffer DOUBLE Potions first thing in the morning? Who in Merlin's name would put us through Double Potions FIRST THING IN THE MORNING?" Ron did not seem to want to let this go; in fact, he seemed like he had some things to say about whoever made this schedule in the first place.

Harry interrupted him before his shouting attracted too much attention, feeling his own eyes twinkle. "I'm sure this wasn't something done just to punish us, Ron. Plus, it's second, not first. We have plenty of time to catch up in our sleep first."

He felt Ron bristle beside him, before turning incredulously. "Are you mad? This is Snape. This was just to punish us! Since when do act so rationally anyways? You don't like Snape or something, do you?" He asked suspiciously, looking as though he were about to make sure this wasn't an impostor.

"Just doing my Prefect duties," he answered, grinning. He winked at Hermione for good measure. If he didn't know better, he would say that was a blush tingeing her cheeks.

The blush, however, was soon identified as an angry blush. She huffed and hemmed her way through a particular article that seemed to be dominating a little of the front page and much of the second page of the _Prophet_. He looked at Ron, but he was still annoyed and suspicious at Harry's behaviour towards Snape. He also seemed to have some sense, and reminded Harry, with his rigorous shake of the head, exactly how angry Hermione could get.

He sighed tiredly, trying not to show his resignation. "What is it, Hermione?" he finally asked.

"What is it? Oh that good-for-nothing, decree-toting, lie-spouting, fairy-tale-believing, idiotic, Death Eater lobster!" Harry blinked. Her voice was shrill, and she'd said all that very fast. He wasn't sure he'd caught most of it, either.

"Decree-toting?"

"Yes! Can you believe it? I would never in my short life have even considered the Ministry would stoop so low as to-"

Harry interrupted her by grabbing the paper from her. "If you won't tell us, then at least let me read the article out loud," he said reasonably, sitting back in his chair, before warily beginning to read out loud for Ron's benefit.

**_Minister Takes Responsibility for Hogwarts_**

_Special Reporting by Tulip Turpis_

_In a bold move, not a minute too soon in the opinion of this writer, the Minister has finally taken some responsibility for the education of our children, the future of the wizarding world. _

_The Minister yesterday introduced the first in what is expected to be a series of Educational Decrees designed to hand more control to the Ministry. It dictates that Hogwarts is to hold classes designed to stimulate young minds and make them prepared to be contributing members of Wizarding society. The classes, dubbed _Citizenship_, will have content as varied as magical theory and as specified as role plays determining what actions are appropriate in what circumstances._

_"We are very excited with this new direction!" says Ministry official Percival Weasley. "We also hope to introduce transparent controls and regulations on teacher performance in the near future." He added, proving the Ministry is truly in touch with the wants of its people._

_As no doubt readers of this paper will remember, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Albs Dumbledore, has made many horrifying appointments to his school, teaching our beloved young minds of tomorrow. Over the past few years he has employed a werewolf, seriously injuring a Professor, and an unstable and possibly dangerous ex-Auror, Alastor "Mad Eye" Moody. The indignation of the readers should not end there, however. He seems unable to produce a long term Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. This might be because of his current teachers, which include a possible ex-Death Eater (details of the trial are mysteriously unavailable) and a half-giant that through his love and affinity for dark creatures like himself has injured countless students. "It is a good thing that we are not fighting a Dark Lord, or I would be worried about the inadequacy of the teaching staff and their loyalties." comments Lucius Malfoy, 41, Governor and parent of Draco Malfoy, who was grievously injured by a hippogriff in his third year._

_In the opinion of this writer, it is about time that Dumbledore, thought the defeater of the powerful Grindewald, got off his high pedestal and stopped spending all his time listening to the fairy tales of irrational and impressionable boys like our infamous Harry Potter. For an editorial on all past things Potter has claimed this summer, turn to page B5._

Harry sighed. "Do I want to read the editorial?" he asked warily, already turning to find the page. Hermione snatched the paper out of his hand quickly.

"Not unless you want to see every fact you have given us discredited, thank you very much." That girl always had been way too brisk.

It was only then that the article began to sink in. "Citizenship? What's so bad about that?"

"Oh don't you read Harry? They plan on more decrees to inspect on the teachers! That's not only undermining Dumbledore's authority but spying! How safe do you think the school will be after that?"

"We are very excited with this new direction!" Ron mimicked his disgust plain on his face. "A traitor if I ever heard one," he added darkly.

Harry smiled grimly, wondering how on earth he could ever have trusted Malfoy of all people when his father was spewing that Voldemort wasn't even back. "We better just get to lessons, yeah?"

Even the sight of Professor Binns drifting through the blackboard wasn't enough to engage his brain, and soon enough he was fast asleep, drifting through clouds on a hot summer's day…

_Ansuz: Raidho Thurisaz Hagalaz_

Harry tried to blink his sleep away as he felt Ron poking him painfully in the ribs. "Wha..," he began, before realising the classroom was empty already.

"Harry, were you making notes?" Hermione enquired, picking up his parchment.

"I wouldn't touch that, he might've drooled on it," Ron teased, grinning.

"Don't be silly Ron. Are these runes, Harry?" Harry brushed her off, making his way downstairs.

"Great," Ron grumbled," we don't even have enough time for a break if we want to get down to Potions in time!"

"Of course we do. I want to show you some other things I read in the Prophet-"

"I'll see you lot in class then, yeah?" Harry interrupted, anger coursing through his veins as he remembered that disgusting newspaper. He made his way down to the dungeons without waiting for an answer.

He hadn't realised he had practically run down until he found himself out of breath. He was not surprised when he noticed his friends were not behind him and that Draco and Clarissa were already there, leaning casually against the wall and seemingly engrossed in conversation.

"…and so I told him to go get impaled on a rather large vegetable, and he didn't seem to have an answer to that." Clarissa was saying, with a haughty air of superiority that was so Slytherin it made Harry want to spew.

"Well, that's what happens when people can't deal with their own problems. I suppose you rather enjoyed humouring his house-elf?" Draco drawled, his customary smirk lighting his features. Harry wanted to beat it off his face permanently. He briefly wondered what had happened to their friendship, but 4 years of rivalry could not be put aside for a few years of memories.

He heard the conversation cease, and was only aware a second later that the reason for this was because he had pushed Malfoy against the wall.

"What do you want, Potter?" he asked, his eyes narrow grey slits.

"You were teasing me on the train about the return of Voldemort," he saw the boy flinch, "and yet your father denies it. Tell me what's up." He ground out the last words with difficulty, trying to refrain from smashing his head against the wall repeatedly.

Malfoy's eyes darted behind Harry, to check whether anyone but Clarissa – no, might as well call her Cambridge – was listening. Satisfied, he turned back to Harry, his eyes burning.

"Don't be a prick, Harry. Of course my father knows; how else would I? Listen, you oaf, get off me!" Harry didn't budge. Malfoy sighed. "Fine! Look, my father isn't stupid and I can't control him. I don't have a way to expose him yet, or I would. He's not going to go advertising his…status…until it's safe enough. _I'm not my father, Harry."_

The last sentence was said in such urgency that Harry let go. He should have remembered. "I'm sorry, I…"

He trailed off at the smile that lit Malfoy's face. "Duh!" he added, rolling his eyes. It reminded him so much of Clarissa that he smiled as well, and turned to look at her.

"Get a grip, you two. The walls have eyes and ears, you know. Those decrees will give some far more power than you have yet to realise." Harry's smile grew wider.

"I know," he began, hearing the footsteps that signalled the approach of the others, "but luckily, I have you to tell me all about it." He wasted no time in leaning back against the wall and leaving them to their conversation, again remembering the fierce indignation that article had elicited, the one he had tried to control. He couldn't help but wonder how many more people would be discredited by these strangers who seemed to flock to that god-forsaken Ministry.

In no time (and after a worried look from Hermione), Harry was seated in the Potions classroom – next to Neville of all people – and waiting silently for the usual dramatic appearance of Professor Snape. He didn't have to wait long; Professor Snape slammed the door and waited for his robes to come to a complete stop before addressing the class.

"I don't expect all of you to have realised, what with the modicum of intelligence you all possess collectively, the significance of your OWL year. A Potions NEWT is something essential for many highly paid and highly important jobs, and I will under no circumstances let you into my class unless you have achieved an O in your Potions OWL. Since you can no doubt do research if you are so inclined, I won't waste much more of our lesson on this. You are to brew the Fide Mea potion. It is by no means an easy or quick potion to make; however, it will be brewed and an essay on its effects and properties handed in by the rest of the week. You may begin." With that, he promptly sat at his desk and began writing.

Harry shrugged, looked up the page, took out some parchment, and began reading.

_The Fide Mea Potion is a recent potion, invented in 1786 By Sir H. Davy. A variation of the truth serum, it allows the user to confirm if a person's word is to be trusted…Brewed correctly, it can also part of a binding magical contract in which the user has to keep his/her word…Illegal variations of this potion abound, mostly using Dark charms and blood magic…Of course, the potion can be changed, by increasing the amount of powdered cilantro and simultaneously reducing the amount of crushed caraway, to act as a companion, if not a substitute for, the Fidelius Charm…_

Harry blinked, looking up and realising that most people had already gathered their ingredients and begun. He didn't do this; if he learned at least one thing during summer revision it was that it was always best to understand the potion before brewing, especially because then one would know how to quickly rectify a mistake. Plus, he realised that some ingredients that the cupboard didn't normally have, and which he assumed they were to procure themselves before the end of the week, had to be added soon after others or the potion would be spoiled. He therefore set about writing his essay, and, by the end of the lesson, had finished it to his satisfaction. He also checked the cupboard to make sure exactly what he had to get himself, which, thankfully, was just two baby jobberknoll feathers.

Having missed his break, he now wasted no time in running up to the hall for food. He felt Ron right behind him, and slowed down so that Hermione could catch up. It was only two corridors later that it seemed Ron had followed suit.

"Why haven't you started your potion, Harry?" Ron asked. "Trying to get detention this early in the year, or just defying Snape?"

"Ron, I'm sure Harry has a perfectly good excuse, since he is a Prefect, don't you Harry?" Was Hermione trying to intimidate him because of his new responsibilities?

"Of course," he began breezily, "there are no jobberknoll feathers in the student cupboard, and they have to be added at the same time as the tarragon, or the potion's effects are cancelled out, and the potion induces honesty, not silence."

Ron was staring at him in open-mouthed shock, while Hermione had raised her eyebrows. "You're right… did you do your essay instead then?"

They had now reached the Hall, and all went to sit. "Yep," he said, before helping himself to food and digging in.

He left lunch early with Ron to go up to Divinations, since Hermione had Ancient Runes or something. He had completely forgotten how stifling the room was until he began choking on entry.

"Come on Harry, let's just sit," Ron smiled, trying not to choke himself. This lesson seemed to be even more boring then History of Magic. Trelawney spent most of the time talking about the importance of the OWL year ("If it's so important, let's get on with it!" Ron had fervently whispered, and Harry declined to point out that he had therefore just agreed with Snape) and the rest of the time telling the class what she foresaw would be on the exams (as if it wasn't on a syllabus) while Parvati and Lavender squealed at her "aptitude". Harry was more than glad when he found himself climbing down again, and making his way to the new teacher.

"Hey," Ron had commented as they took their seats next to Hermione, "at least she didn't predict your death this lesson." Harry smiled despite himself.

Before Hermione could speak, presumably to huff about the inaccuracies of Divination, the teacher stopped them. She was _bland_, non-descript brown hair and eyes, average height, average features. Harry wouldn't have remembered her face later. The only reason he imagined anyone even noticed her was the light behind her eyes: a light that seemed almost purple.

"Good afternoon. I am Professor Custodiacies, and I do not recall asking anyone to take out their wands."

The class seemed stunned, but her no-nonsense look had them finally put their wands away. In the meantime, she handed out what looked like exams, to the sputtering indignation of most students, and the delight of one Hermione Granger.

"I think this lesson will be spent doing a pop quiz so I can gleam what you have been able to learn throughout these years of very – unstable – teaching. Finish it, and then you may go. Begin." And with that, she too, in a parody of Professor Snape, sat and began writing.

Harry turned to Ron, who seemed as stunned as he was, and then to Hermione, who was already furiously scribbling. They shrugged, deciding to get on with it, and began the first question.

_Describe the theory behind choosing the appropriate spell phrase and movement._

It was later, in the common room, that Hermione managed to finally talk to him.

"Harry, I need to talk to you," she began. Harry sensed that this was to be private, and Ron seemed to realise the same. _Well, now is as good a time as any to tell them,_ Harry thought.

"Alright, look, for my own safety I've been given my own room. Should we talk there?" He whispered, looking around furtively.

"You…what?" Hermione seemed upset.

"Don't worry Hermione, Dumbledore didn't mean to take hitherto unknown privileges away form you. Should we go or not?" Without waiting, and ignoring Ron's "Did you swallow a dictionary?", Harry dragged them to the portrait hidden at the base of the stairs, and promptly pushed them in.

When he got there, he found them unceremoniously sprawled on top of each other, and couldn't resist the urge to smirk. He then went over to the couch and motioned for them to follow, which they did after disentangling their limbs form each other's.

"Weihup! This is what you get?" Ron asked, looking around appreciatively.

Hermione shushed him. "I was in Ancient Runes and we were revising the Elder Futhark and I recognised your runes! Harry, do you know why you were writing them?" Her eyes sparkled.

"Er… I didn't even know I was writing?" Harry responded tentatively.

"But you must have! You wrote them over and over again. Four of them. _Ansuz: Raidho Thurisaz Hagalaz._" She took out the now crumpled parchment and showed it to them; he didn't even know she had taken it. What would Moody say about his keeping in with "Constant Vigilance"?

"There was more," she said sheepishly, "but it got torn off, and this was all I needed anyway."

Harry stared at it, at the straight, childish lines, trying to decipher it. Ron, thankfully, voiced his thoughts.

"Hermione, what does it all mean? We don't take Ancient Runes!"

"Oh, right, sorry. Let's see…oh dear, I'd have to go back for my book…" She looked around, looking for an exit.

Harry looked around too, wondering if Clarissa was here. They would find out sooner or later. "I'll get one," he told Hermione, and purposefully went to Clarissa's door, and knocked thrice. She emerged quickly form the Slytherin portrait, holding a few books and looking at him inquisitively. She didn't even spare a glance for Ron and Hermione.

Harry grinned. "I knew you'd have wards, and you'd be here soon anyway."

"Yep," she answered. "So?"

"Yeah….can I borrow your Ancient Runes book? I apparently was scribbling some runes over and over again in History of Magic, and 'Mione thinks it means something."

"Cool, are you psychic? That's what runes are for, aren't they? Was your scar hurting? Can I help" Harry brushed off the feeling when he realised she was actually worried. She quickly followed him over to the couch, took out her book and turned to the index.

"You're the Slytherin, aren't you? The one who hangs out with Malfoy?" There was too much disgust in Ron's voice. Clarissa ignored him however.

"Is it the Elder Futhark?" She began, and, after a stiff nod from Hermione, they both got to work. Ron, however, was having none of it.

"Why is she here, Harry?"

Harry sighed. "I share this common room with her and D-Malfoy."

Ron was incredulous in his indignation. "Malfoy?"

"Yes. Listen, Ron, didn't you hear the Hat's song? United we stand, divided we fall? Don't okay. Long story short, we all had the same babysitter and were close friends when we were small, and then we were Obliviated. We got past those charms. Deal." He really wasn't up to explaining any of this.

"But Harry, Malfoy was one of the Death Eaters that brought You-Know-Who back! And he's Malfoy! You know, slimy, sneaky, Amazing Bouncing Ferret! She hangs out with him. How could you ever be friends with him? Or her? I bet she's like a Slytherin slut or something if she's in Malfoy's graces already. He's that sick."

Harry saw red. There were only flames of orange swimming before his eyes, and a harsh, wailing wind complimenting the ringing in his ears. Ron had **not **just said that. He was not only angry at Ron though; as much as he was loath to admit this right now, he was frightened.

"I'm a what?" She asked this quietly, her voice dripping with innocence and sweetness, and the effect could not have been more menacing.

Hermione, ever the peaceful one, seemed to realise what was about to happen, and tried to change the subject. "People don't just break through memory charms. I thought it was near impossible. After all, if it was as easy as triggering lost memories that have been, say, repressed because of trauma, Muggles could read a Tolkien novel and perhaps remember our world. You need a lot of power to do that."

"She's a what?" Harry hadn't known he could match her tone until the precise moment it came out of her mouth.

Ron seemed oblivious to the danger he was in. "You're a Slytherin. There's no such thing as a good Slytherin. It's obvious how your minds work. Favours and all that. Suppose that's the only way you could rise to the top of your House so easily?" Ron had the audacity to sneer.

Before he knew it, Ron was in the centre of the common room, Draco backing away with a puzzled frown. Harry hadn't even noticed Draco had come in.

"Brilliant, D, you're here for the show. Now, Weasel, I think you should apologise and swallow that profanity, if you know what's good for you. After all, you claim to understand Slytherin politics." She was next to him in a flash. Harry felt something grab at his arm, and vaguely realised it must be Hermione.

"What am I?" she asked sweetly, embracing him from behind. Ron seemed to be having trouble articulating, either because he finally realised the danger or because of his proximity to her. "Oh, I think you can remember…'Slytherin slut?' Hmmmm? Oh come now, only good can come of telling the truth, right?" Her hands made their way to his –oh my word – and she proceeded to – my goodness –. He wondered if he was the only breathless one in the room, even as he knew this couldn't be the end. Just as he was moaning, searching for sweet release, she suddenly stopped. Harry heard the words she whispered, sensually, in his ear, almost as if she were having a perfectly normal conversation. "_Devori tuus verba..._"

Suddenly they could hear every word Ron had ever said against any Slytherin echoing throughout the room in Ron's own voice, before writing itself in thin air, and then swishing down to lodge itself down Ron's throat. Ron had by now collapsed, his blue eyes brimming with tears. She calmly walked away, leaving him in his agony, and sat in front of the couch again, snatching the parchment from Hermione's trembling hands, and going about looking for the runes. Harry let the torture continue, not feeling very sympathetic at the moment, but soon discovered Ron had said too many things about Slytherin, and wouldn't be able to breathe soon. Harry was in fact unsure if he'd even already passed out from the pain.

Harry sighed. "_Qui dicet est vanusum._" So finishing the spell, he silently went to Ron, picked him up, and carried him to the Hospital Wing, where he explained to Poppy, after some probing, exactly what happened. He had been right: Ron had fallen unconscious during the spell.

It had been a similarly hectic week after that. Ron missed all of Tuesday and Wednesday, not being able to talk, and Hermione took him books, notes and homework (much to Ron's displeasure). Somehow, the true story of what had happened hadn't gotten out, but Harry knew it was only a matter of time. All through the week, as well, Hermione had not said a word to him. He shrugged it off, marvelling at the fact that at least he finished and handed in his potion and essay, and wondering, in the stifling seclusion of his private common room, whether Dumbledore would have any extra lessons for him or something. It was only Friday that Hermione or Ron actually spoke to Harry.

"Who do you think is taking Citizenship?" Hermione whispered to him as they sat themselves in the classroom, before something flashed in her eyes that seemed to remind her of the event. He followed her eyes and noticed Clarissa, silently seating herself a few seats away. _Great,_ Harry thought darkly, _pair us with the Slytherins._

He was very surprised when none other than the Headmaster entered the classroom, blue eyes twinkling jovially as he surveyed his classroom.

"Welcome, welcome to Citizenship! Today we will begin with a fairly simple topic, and debate it through to break! Now, what is magic?" He said, beaming at them all.

No one dared to seem like they though he was joking, though Harry would understand if they did. A few tentative hands floated into the air.

"Miss Cambridge?" Dumbledore said this as if a challenge. Harry wondered how much trouble she had been in for that thing with Ron. He hadn't asked. He noticed, however, that her hand had most decidedly not been up.

"Energy," she said simply. A look from Dumbledore had her reluctantly expanding her answer. "It is one of the many forms of the energy, again following the conservation principle. It is the now widely accepted theory among Magical Physicists that each two people have a well of magical power, which is what in turn can be controlled by their magical genes. It leads some to the 'scientific' conclusion that every person has a 'soul mate'."

Dumbledore continued beaming. "Excellent! I was going to get to that theory. That's right. The magic must come from somewhere, and it comes from within. However, our bodies would collapse at storing raw magical energy, so while we witches and wizards store much more than Muggles, our full supply is housed in one of the many realms, in what we have deemed wells. It is said that if two soul mates manage to connect they can draw power directly from these, though there are certain limitations. Does anyone know these?"

No one put their hands up. Not only had they never gone through magic by itself in any of the theory classes, it seemed some couldn't understand what this had to do with anything. If Harry had to bet, he would say that some time after covering all this they would go on to 'responsibility' which surely would fall under 'Citizenship'. He mentally shrugged and out up his hand. Dumbledore nodded at him to go ahead.

"They range form being a good conductor to having enough energy in the first place to be able to withstand absorbing such purity. One who can do this would also be able to absorb from anything, if carefully trained. There has been an unfair stigma attached to these, mostly because of the fear and suspicion these people caused, and because, undeniably, power can corrupt. A Mage, however, is simply one who has, in one way or another (even in what some call past lives) met their soul mate and managed, therefore, to make a solid connection between s/he and the well, so extracting more magic when needed. In the beginning, before training and wands became the norm, this was the standard among Wizarding communities, and so only the most powerful were considered magical, while the others were still Muggle. Nowadays, with the invention of wands to focus power, standardised training, and the emergence of more magical genes suited to this lifestyle, one needs much less magic to be considered a witch or wizard." Harry tried to ignore that look from Hermione. He had the right to know some things, even if he didn't know how yet. Maybe it had something to do with that time he had collapsed in Dumbledore's office.

"Brilliantly put! Now, is it possibly, then, to increase one's magic? I'll place you in groups and you will debate this, and then next week we'll get some feedback and I might even assign some essays!" He seemed very overjoyed at this idea. Harry was thankful he wasn't placed in a group with the Slytherins, and after a while (and a quiet chat) it was obvious that Ron and Hermione had forgiven him in part. They debated for far too long (Hermione making notes!) and then finally retired for that week.

Harry, though, felt troubled, and his fears were not easily assuaged by Hermione's usual promise to research. Had Voldemort already found many answers that led him to the same conclusion? What if he wanted to increase his power?

_I'm sorry if it's not a cliff-hanger, but hey, there will be plenty of those yet! Any theories people? And you really should read up on Runes, too bad they have all but forgotten…._


End file.
